


Far Away from Home

by Loptyrs



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Crimson Flower Route, Empire route, Especially Edelgard's and Lysithea's, Hurt/Comfort, More characters to be added, Multi, and Felix/Annie, general war violence, i was a big sadist in my crimson flower playthrough so, killing your loved ones, more pairings to be added MAYBE???, most of these encounters happen after the A support unless specified otherwise, others can be romantic unless explictly mentioned, platonic sylvain/felix so don't read into it romantically PLEASE, yeah this is rarepair hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-10-27 23:00:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20768366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loptyrs/pseuds/Loptyrs
Summary: Sorry, but this is war. And in war, anything goes.Even if it means claiming the lives of those you loved once.





	1. The Trail of Spiderlilies

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of Golden Deer and Blue Lions kids facing the consequences of killing those they once called friends and family. Something to get my Crimson Flower angst out on. I wanted to try and write something new. I hope you all enjoy. 
> 
> ALWAYS BEING UPDATED  
The order that might take place who knows:  
1) Platonic Sylvain/Felix  
2) Marianne/Linhardt  
3) Annette/Felix  
4) Sylvain/Mercedes  
5) Lysithea/Edelgard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix did what he had to do to carve out his own path. Even if it meant killing his friends. Even if it meant killing his father. 
> 
> But he never allowed himself to feel the grief from it all. And Sylvain lends a shoulder to him when it comes crashing down at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly exercises to get myself writing again, so I hope you enjoy this.  
I find them to be platonic soulmates and I think that's neat.

All Felix could remember was the blood. The blood that had painted the blade of his sword dripped crimson, and stained the grass beneath his feet. Blood splattered across his cheek as he cut his enemies down with single blows. Violence, war, and the stench of iron had been his reality for the last five years since he abandoned his home in Faerghus to lend his sword to the Emperor of Adrestia. He had no regrets. He made a choice after his Professor decided to walk along the bloody path with Emperor Edelgard to carve out his own destiny. No matter how gruesome and bloodsoaked it was.  
  
He remembered the pitiful look on Byleth’s face as he told them he was no better than the Boar Prince himself… for he had the same bloodthirsty, animalistic glint in his eyes when he drove his blade through a Kingdom soldier’s chest. The thrill… the hunger for more… it terrified him. Felix became the monster that haunted his nightmares. The very one that lurked in the darkest corners of his fears looked him back in the mirror.  
  
“I don’t see that in you, Felix…” Byleth said, their minty green eyes glassy. “You’re not a monster.”

“I hope not.” He avoided their eyes in fear they would see straight through him, and scorn him for what he had become in their absence. But when he had the nerve to look back at them, bitterness overcame him. “I hope this path you’re on is worth it. I hope that the world you and Edelgard are trying to create is worth all this bloodshed. Do not disappoint me.”

It couldn’t be in vain. He wasn’t a mindless killer.  
Right?

It never got any easier being a reaper. The faces of those who begged him for their lives haunted him in his dreams. They were etched into his memory as he trained. Their screams echoed in his ears when he walked alone through the empty desolate monastery. And over the years, Felix had gotten used to it. He learned how to block out the screams the boar wasn’t able to. He found a sort of catharsis in allowing the blade of his sword do the talking on the battlefield as he fought alongside Byleth and Emperor Edelgard. He was the Empire’s new sword. He was the Blue Shadow of Death. Tales of his ferocity and atrocities swept through the camps. The stories of his vicious kills was carried by winds to Faerghus and beyond. 

And when it carried to Arianrhod… the faces of the past cast their glares at him. It burned worse than the scorching fury that was Bolganone. The look of disdain on his father’s aged face… it cut into him deeper than any stab wound he could have ever received.

“So… my foolish son… You took it upon yourself to leave your family behind,” Rodrigue lamented as he saw the shell of the man that was once his beloved son. The once scornful look that burned behind twin carnelian irises was nothing but embers. The Felix he had once known was dead ever since Emperor Edelgard took the throne, and waged war on the entire world itself. The man stood before him now paraded around in his skin, like it was some final, cruel joke.

Felix grit his teeth at his father’s words.  
“I’m not coming back! I won’t serve the _ boar _,” Felix spat. He was the foolish one? How was he the fool when his father so blindly followed a man that would ultimately lead them to ruin. He finally found his path. He carved it out himself using a dagger, tearing his way through no matter what the cost was. Even if the cost was his father’s life. 

What words… what hateful, venomous words that spewed from this living corpse's mouth . This was not his son.  
He sighed before conjuring a light from between gloved fingers. “It is a father’s duty to settle his child’s failures…”

Felix winced at the word.  
Failures huh?

The light grew and grew. The anger in Rodrigue’s eyes pierced Felix’s heart. The disappointment...the hurt… for five years, he had prepared himself for this moment. But it never got any easier.  
“Felix… you must die, here and now!”

Before Felix knew it, his blade moved swiftly like the wind that carried him along this path he had chosen, tearing through the air as it met his father’s chest. It plunged through him with ease. Specks of blood had hit him in the face as he pushed the blade deeper in. The boy in him was screaming for him to stop! This was his father!  
But the savage within urged him to watch the life leave the Shield of Faerghus’s eyes. It whispered for him to pave his way, even if it meant stepping over Rodrigue’s lifeless body. 

* * *

The taking of Arianrhod was successful. Cornelia was dead and the Black Eagle Strike Force had secured another victory before they head out to Fhirdiad to end the war once and for all. Many of the elite warriors whom Felix fought alongside him were celebrating their hard earned victory in the dining hall by drinking what booze they could find hidden away in the monastery. But victory was bittersweet for some. 

And as for Felix, he decided to head to the training ground to sharpen his skills before he had to face Dimitri for the final time. The thought of seeing his old friend’s face at the other end of his sword made him feel ill. It had been five years since he pushed down the growing disgust that grew within him. And yet… despite it all… Felix felt guilt gnaw at him like a rat. 

Each swing of his sword was more half hearted than the last. More haphazard. His arms stung . The cuts and bruises were finally taking their toll on him as his muscles burned from over training. His whole body felt like a lead weight that was sinking to the bottom of the ocean. Fast. He was drowning in the grief that had began to overflow. 

But he dared not to show any weakness. He couldn’t. It would all be in vain if he did… 

As he swung his sword, he heard a voice coming from the other side of the training grounds.  
“Isn’t it a little late to be training like this? You’re gonna wear yourself out if you keep going all out, buddy.”

Felix sighed. He didn’t even turn to look at the onlooker that invaded his private space.  
“I didn’t ask you for your opinion, Sylvain.”

The gravel crunched under the taller knight’s feet as he walked over to him in attempts to get his old friend to rest for a moment. Even if it were just a moment. “Aw, come on now, we’re all celebrating in the dining hall like old times,” Sylvain said as his hand rested on the swordsman’s shoulder. “It would be good to take a break right about now.”

Felix jerked away and Sylvain recoiled.  
“Old times, huh? What’s there to celebrate?” he said bitterly.  
  
Why would anyone want to celebrate this? Yes, they were successful. Yes they won the battle, but the war wasn’t over yet. How could he rest when there was so much more to do? How could he even think about resting when they had to face the Tempest King himself in less than a month? 

What was there to celebrate when they had blood all over their hands?

“Well, we won the last battle didn’t we? We survived.”

“Survival is nothing to celebrate. You_ know_ that._I_ know that,” Felix hissed as he whacked the training dummy with the wooden weapon in his hands. Each limb burned, and screamed for him to stop. He had to or he would be absolutely useless on the battlefield. That was the last thing he ever wanted to be. Useless. A failure. 

Failure. The word stung him as it left his father’s lips. He couldn’t shake the idea that the final thoughts that ran through Rodrigue’s mind was that his son was a failure to him. But what else did he expect? Did he really think that his father would be proud of the path he made for himself?  
Part of him wanted him to be. But he knew that was a foolish hope to have.  
  
“So don’t be stupid, Sylvain. We did what we had to.”

Sylvain could feel the waves of despair roll off of Felix’s shoulders as he spoke. The agony… the sheer agony he must have felt that day after he…   
He shook his head. 

“Look. I’m sorry for what happened today. No one should have to--”  
  
Felix felt the festering in his chest worsen. Acid ate away at him. His control to keep his emotions in check was wearing thinner and thinner. And Sylvain was making it worse. He didn’t mean to, no. He knew that. But just hearing him put the events into words just made him all the more infuriated. 

Felix whipped around to see Sylvain stand before him with kind brown eyes and with a smile that spoke volumes of worry for him. The tiredness that overcame his handsome face said it all. Pity. He pitied Felix, and that was the final straw.  
“Yeah well, I had to! If I didn’t kill the old man myself, he would have killed someone else in the name of his _ King _ !” The words he spat out were like venom. They tasted like blood in his mouth and he couldn’t stand to have them any longer. His throat was sore from his harsh words as he yelled. Felix’s fury echoed in the training grounds and was swallowed by the night. “It was something _ I _ had to take care of! So don’t tell me to celebrate being alive when that is_ NOTHING_ worth celebrating!”

His face felt hot. And wet. His own sandy brown eyes stung. He felt his body shaking uncontrollably. And for the first time in nearly six years… Felix cried. All the weight of the war had come crashing down on him mercilessly like a waterfall. Once the dams were smashed, the flood had overtaken Felix, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

“Felix…”  
Sylvain reached out to gently touch his friend on the shoulder before he jerked away again.  
“Felix, I’m not gonna hurt you…”

He could barely see through his unshed tears. The mess of scarlett hair that crowned Sylvain’s head was a blurry red mess now. Even the moon that had reflected down on him giving him the softest glow was distorted by the mess of tears in his eyes.  
“I don’t want your fucking pity.”

The knight frowned at the swordsman’s words. Dark brows furrowed.  
He knew they didn’t hold as much malice as he wanted them to. But he wasn’t alone. Not in this. Not ever.  
“It’s not pity. I can’t even imagine what this feels like… I just don’t want you to feel alone. Because you’re not.“

Sylvain didn’t have to tell him that. He knew that. But… the weight in his heart… the beast that lurked inside him told him that he was the only one to shoulder this burden he so generously bestowed upon himself. No one could even understand. Not even his closest friend. If he knew what kind of monster he became, Sylvain would never see him the same. 

“I’m here for you. Through thick and thin. You and I promised each other we would die together, and I’m not going to leave you here while you suffer.”

He extended his hand out to Felix, coaxing him to let that tattered barrier he kept up down. It was time to stop fighting, even if it were just for a little while. It was only so much he could bear before he broke in two, and ventured far past the point of no return. The Felix he knew was still there, he was scared. And alone. He was full of grief he never allowed himself to feel.   
It was a blur before Sylvain realized he was dragged down with Felix down to the dirt and gravel as he clung onto him. Hot tears ran down pale cheeks. He held onto him as he quietly sobbed in his dearest friend’s chest. The weight was lifted temporarily. He could feel vulnerable without the wolf within taunting him for being so weak. 

  
Sylvain’s hand smoothed over the mess of midnight blue hair that hung in Felix’s face. He pressed a kiss to the crown of his head as he held him in his arms. It was the first time in what seemed like eons that they were able to relinquish any sort of walls they had built up around themselves. Strong arms hugged the other in an embrace that felt warm, and comforting. They were able to be themselves. There was no need for pretending they were strong for now. 

  
“Shh... I’m here now… I’m here…” Sylvain whispered against Felix’s hair. 

The moon shone down on the two as they remained in that embrace until dawn broke. They didn’t even remember falling asleep at the training grounds together. But once the sun rose, both men without a home felt a sort of catharsis that felt lost on them for years.  
  
And with each other, they would survive, and see the end to the war. Together.


	2. Red and Blue Anemones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marianne von Edmund hated violence. She always had.
> 
> But her hands were stained red. Red with the blood of those she loved so dearly. And the stains won't come out. Yet Linhardt holds onto them so lovingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in rarepair hell, but I love their interactions so much... And I wanted to write affectionate Linhardt. And I think his actions go farther than words. But that's me. And I'm kinda stoned. 
> 
> Please enjoy!!

Marianne von Edmund hated violence. 

She’s hated it all her life. Ever since her parents disappeared all those years ago, she dared not become close with others in fear for their own safety. Her existence was a bad omen. It was what was drilled into her head for years and years before she was adopted by Margrave Edmund. 

However… violence would be no stranger to her. She remembered her first kill when she was just a girl back in her days at the Officer's Academy. The look on the bandit's face when her spell of Nosferatu hit him square in the chest as she sucked the life out of him was contorted into such a hideously fearful expression. As he lay dying in the dirt, she felt rejuvenated. And it made her feel sick. 

But like most things, killing had become a necessary part of being a student of the Officer’s Academy at Garegg Mach. She was thrust into an environment outside of her comfort zone where she only found solace in the animals around the monastery. And as the months passed, Marianne felt… welcomed. Safe. Those around her in her classes--Hilda, Linhardt, Ashe… even Edelgard herself-- made her feel like she wasn’t a beast to be feared. And with Professor Byleth’s guidance, Marianne finally felt like she had a grip on her life. She felt warmer than she ever did in years. 

That reigned true until Edelgard declared war on the Church of Seiros and on the Goddess herself. 

And as the years passed by, she fought for the Emperor of Adrestia. Marianne fought, bled, and healed for the Empire’s cause, abandoning her homeland to the beasts that lurked in the army. Her adoptive father even encouraged his daughter to turn coat on the Alliance to fight for the Empire.    
However… she believed in the world that Edelgard worked so hard to create. A world without Crests, and without the corrupted nobility that founded their very beings on the importance of what lie in their blood. All of that would be gone once the Emperor finally unified all of Fódlan. And Marianne would be free. 

It was for the greater good. 

At least… that was what she kept telling herself. 

No matter what words she told herself, and no matter how much she tried to remind herself of her own ambitions, Marianne couldn’t block out the carnage of the battles she fought. The blood… it drenched her hands and pooled at her feet. She felt so heavy as the crimson stained the hem of her dress. The stench of it overpowered what perfumes and oils she used to try to mask it with. No matter what she did, Marianne couldn’t quite get the stains out from her clothes and off her hands. 

She took the brush and scrubbed furiously at the blood smears in her sleeves. But they wouldn’t come out! They were just as stubborn as she was and they made her lose her patience more and more.    
“Marianne, it’s okay, we can get these stains out later,” Linhardt said as he helped scrub out the stains left on his own tunics. Dirt and mud was caked at the elbows, dirtying the soapy water.

Sky blue strands of hair hung in her face as she hunched over the bucket. Her lips pressed into a hard line as her brows knit together in fierce concentration.    
“I… I have to get them out…” she replied, continuing to scrub but to no avail. “I have to…”

A gentle hand rested on hers, stopping her actions. Chocolate brown eyes met soft, deep blue ones. The dark circles had made a comeback on her delicate face. His thumb stroked over her wet, pruning knuckles in attempts to soothe her. After five years, Linhardt knew how Marianne thought. The bloodshed was her fault, she would say. It was because of the Crest she bore within her veins. But they both knew that wasn’t the case. No… he would prove her otherwise. And he would spend his whole life proving to her how beautiful it was. To him at least. 

“Marianne. It’s alright. Please, we both need to rest for tomorrow,” he said, coaxing her to let the scrubbing brush out of her hands so she could wash herself up to rest for the march to Deirdru. It was to be a long and arduous march, and it was in territory familiar to her. The last thing he wanted was for her to lag behind or worse… 

After what felt like hours, she relented. Marianne allowed the budding Crest scholar help her up and guide her to her tent. His hand caressed hers to lift some of the burden off her shoulders.    
She lightly squeezed his hand. As much as she hated to be alone at times like this, he was right. They both needed to rest.    
For when dawn broke the next morning, it would be a cruel reality crashing down on her like thousands of bricks. Nothing would be able to prepare her for what was waiting for her on the other side of the battlefield. 

* * *

Arrows flew, cutting the air as they zipped passed her. Buildings and homes were set ablaze. The cries of wyverns echoed in Marianne’s ears. Dirt and dried blood dirtied her shoes as she ran about the cobblestone streets of the warzone that was once the Aquatic Capital. 

  
But the sight before her made her heart drop to her feet. Acid bubbled in her throat. She wanted to scream. She wanted to be sick. And Goddess she wanted to run… but her legs felt like dead, leaden weights. 

Tears blinded Marianne’s vision. Of all the people to see on the battlefield, she never in a million years wanted to see Hilda at the other end of her spells. The axe she wielded pulsated like heartbeat, and glowed like embers. Just like her.    
Hilda had always been radiant. She burned brighter than a thousand stars and was fiercer than any warrior she had ever seen. Hilda was everything Marianne wanted to be and more. She was the best friend any person would be lucky to have. 

And yet… she was her enemy. Marianne betrayed Hilda. She betrayed Claude… she turned her back to face a future she so desperately--so selfishly clung to.    
Why did it have to be like this? Why? 

“I-I’m so sorry, Hilda,” Marianne cried, her voice cracking. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she watched Hilda rest her giant axe on her shoulder. “I…”    
_ I don’t want to hurt you! I don’t… I don’t want to…  _

A sad smile crossed Hilda’s face. Her rosy pink eyes were glassy with her own unshed tears. Her heart felt so heavy in her chest. As much as she wanted to be angry at the woman who fought under the flag of the Empire, Hilda couldn’t be. She couldn’t find the vitriol that drove others to get back at those who betrayed them. In fact… she didn’t blame Marianne. Not for a second. 

But an enemy was an enemy. Even if it was the gentle girl who found solace in horses and cats.    
“It’s okay, Marianne. These things happen in war.”

The flash of light from the bishop’s Thoron was the last thing Hilda would ever see before she felt her life slip through the cracks of her fingers. It was a sunny day in Deirdru, but she felt so cold. She was always so strong, but she could barely lift her axe. It hurt. Every inch of her body felt like it was on fire. Hilda was consumed by an ice cold fire as she coughed up the blood in her throat.    
And as she lay dying, Hilda heard the distant, muffled apologies come from Marianne as she held her, sobbing into her fluffy bubblegum pink hair. 

“Forgive me… please, please, _ please  _ forgive me…"

* * *

Capturing Deirdru was successful for the Black Eagle Strike Force. Claude surrendered and lay his arms down, and relinquished his power to Emperor Edelgard and Byleth. He retreated with what little dignity he had left. The army cheered in victory. Calls to celebrate when they got back to the monastery circled about. But Marianne felt empty. Like a lifeless doll.    
Her arms felt heavy. Deep brown eyes were sore from crying, and mourning the friends she had lost in battle. The buzzing words of excitement was lost on deaf ears. All she could do was stare down at her feet. And her hands… they were so red. Red with the blood of those she cared about. 

The march back to the monastery felt like an eternity before she could hole herself away to cry in solitude. The moment they returned, she avoided the eyes of her peers in fear of finding the slightest glint of scorn for killing someone they once knew.    
How could she even look Lysithea in the eye? Or even Ignatz or Lorenz? They all knew and cared about Hilda. She was their friend and their comrade in arms at a time, even though she gave them a headache sometimes. She genuinely cared about them all… and Marianne took her life with a bolt of lightning. In a flash, she was gone. And it was all her fault. And so she hid herself away, to escape the slivers of resentment in their eyes. 

Night fell over Garegg Mach. The stars and moon shone brightly against the dark sky. A wind blew through the monastery, chilling those who ventured out without a coat. The leaves rustled in the trees. The sound of an owl cooing out into the darkness was the only thing that could be heard besides the crickets that sang in the night. 

And Linhardt couldn’t sleep. He found himself wandering the deserted grounds that was once a school. The occasional cat tagged behind him as he made his rounds around the monastery. Not much had changed. The Knight’s Hall had their busted dummies crammed in a corner. Papers and ashes littered the ground. Cats gathered in corners together to escape the chilly evening.

But the cathedral… it was destroyed. Demolished. Ornate stained glass windows that was nearly a thousand years old were smashed to smithereens. Old limestone walls crumbled around the altar that once stood so proudly at the head of the church. The statues of the old saints stood proudly as they were stained by rusty copper spots. The blue splotches on Saint Cethleann’s dress made her forgotten, like she was a relic of an era long passed.    
And it broke his heart. History that had stood before him was now withering away, and being pushed aside for a new dawn. 

And as he wandered about the empty church, he found a familiar face slouched at the feet of Saint Macuil, hiding her face in her knees.    
“Marianne? What are you doing here?”

She lifted her head to meet the other bishop’s concerned gaze. Her dark eyes felt sore. Red rims formed under them from the flurry of tears she shed. Her pristine blue hair was a mess, her braids loosened. Some pieces strayed away and fell around her. Marianne was a mess to say the least. And he knew why. He didn’t dare voice why. 

“I… Linhardt, I…” 

He got down to her level on his knees, braving the hard stone floor. Delicate hands reached to gently stroke her cheeks but she pulled away, avoiding his gaze at all costs. Her grip tightened on her navy blue skirt. His hand moved from her face and rested on her own, stroking her knuckles, like he would to soothe her. His other hand moved to slowly cup her cheek. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying. Marianne trembled under his touch. 

“It’s… it’s all my fault…” she said, her voice hoarse and threatening to break at any moment. “I killed her… Linhardt, I…” 

The tears stung. Her head throbbed from crying. When she thought she had no more tears to shed, new ones replaced them, creating a brand new torrent of sorrow for her. Marianne could barely meet his gaze in fear of finding some sort of scorn lurking within the depths of his cornflower blue irises. And as fresh, hot tears rolled down her cheeks, the despair came collapsing down on her again. She felt like a girl again. Alone. And the reason why those around her perished in ways that were unspeakable.

Linhardt wasn’t usually the best with words. He was blunt, and said what was on his mind, bold or not. He wasn’t one for tact and dancing around issues when they were presented to him.He saw things from a logical standpoint. He never bothered with things that didn’t concern him. One would describe him as selfish and aloof.    
But Marianne was different. Seeing the one he cared so deeply for blame herself for the death that marred such lovely, lightning scarred hands… it hurt. It hurt more than arrows that pierced his skin in battles he could no longer count. It was indescribable the way it made his heart wrench in his chest. And when words meant so much in that moment, they dried up in his mouth. There was no forming any on his tongue. All Linhardt could do was hold her hand and wipe her tears. 

He shifted to sit next to her, and slowly pulled her into his arms, not to scare her. At first, Marianne felt stiff, like a board. She didn’t move from the shock of such a sudden move on his part. As soon as she felt a steady hand stroke her messy hair, she felt herself relax, and cried. Her hands balled into fists as she sobbed in his shoulder.    
“I’m so sorry… I didn’t--I didn’t want to…”

He kissed her head. His grip tightened on her slightly as she hiccuped out her apologies.   
“I know. I know… but this isn’t your fault,” he said. “It’s war.”

They both sat at the feet of the absent saints as Marianne sobbed. Once her tears were dried up, and there were none left to shed, she rested on his chest, listening to the slow beat of his heart. It was comforting. The movement of his thin fingers undoing her intricate buns calmed her as he massaged her scalp. Cascades of wavy blue tresses fell down her back. When she finally lifted her head to look up at the one she called her beloved, Marianne found no hatred. No malice. 

“I’m… I’m not a monster...am I?” she asked, her voice small and timid. 

He didn't think her a…beast, did he?

His hand left her hair and stroked her cheek. Forest green tresses tickled her cheek as he leaned in to press a little kiss to her forehead. His lips were warm, and soft as they lingered on her skin. And when he pulled away, the look in his eyes made her heart ache.

"You are a treasure, Marianne. Today, you did what you had to," he said, holding her close. "I can't even begin to know how you must feel."

He took her hand in his, fingers grasping at each other, and squeezed. 

"But I do know this."

Linhardt captured Marianne's eyes in his. The moon and the stars reflected in dark, warm brown eyes. She had eyes like a doe. And she was so terrified… 

"You are  _ not  _ a monster. No one thinks you are, and especially not me. I told you before I would dedicate myself to you and your Crest… And I can say that this was not your fault." 

Marianne wanted to believe him. She did. Part of her did. The other was...doubtful. 

She nuzzled herself into his arms. Shaking hands grasped at his. A lightly calloused hand stroked her fingers. She sniffled, and it echoed in the cathedral. A stray grey cat snuggled against their legs and purred. Her eyes felt heavy as a wave of exhaustion washed over her. Her body sank into the comfort that was his embrace. As she lie with Linhardt on the cold stone floor, Marianne felt for now…she could believe him. For the time being. He refused to run, and he refused to believe what fate her Crest would curse him with. And foe that, he was brave. 

Linhardt was brave for loving her. And for now… That was proof enough.


	3. Future Rust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Annette fought her father, she was seventeen years old. 
> 
> And since then, she felt the weight of her guilt bring her down. 
> 
> Now... his blood was on her hands. It terrified her. It broke her heart. But at least she had someone's shoulder to cry on as the night went on, ever so endlessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEEZES
> 
> I finally did it. Sorry this is SUPER shippy and self indulgent and I might go back and fix the end since I'm not entirely satisfied with it. But please enjoy this piece. 
> 
> Next up, Sylvain is gonna cry.

The first time Annette fought her father, she was seventeen years old.   
  
Fire roared and consumed homes and shops in the town of Garegg Mach in their gaping maw of flames. The clash of swords and lances filled her ears like music. Shouts and screams that echoed in the battlefield were the lyrics. 

By now, Annette was used to battle. Over the year of fighting under her dear professor's guidance, she had become braver, and far more powerful than she could have ever hoped of becoming. Her magic grew stronger, and coursed through her red hot veins like it was a part of her. At the professor’s side, and with her friends behind her, she felt like she could do anything. 

But fighting her father… that was another thing entirely. It stung worse than any sort of poison. The pang in her heart felt like a knife to the chest. Annette wished to cross paths with her beloved father again… but this was not how she pictured it.    
But the anger, and hurt that had built over the years… it ate at her like a parasite. The man she knew, loved, and missed so  _ dearly _ was at fighting for the other side, wielding an axe almost as big as her. Its beautifully curved blade glinted in the light of the roaring flames. A look of shock, disappointment, and overwhelming grief was painted all over her aged father’s face. 

“Annette, throw down your arms!” Gilbert pleaded. His daughter stood before him with a look of determination painted all over her face. Eyebrows knit together as her once kind eyes were narrowed in on him. He never saw this expression on his daughter’s face. Never in all his years would he even think she would scowl at him like that. And at the other end of his axe too. 

“I’m sorry, Father. But I have made my choice.” 

_ Her… choice? What in the Goddess’s name… no… no she couldn’t be…  _

Her mouth twisted into a deeper frown. A gale formed at her fingertips, stirring up dirt and leaves around her. “I’m not going back to the monastery, to the Kingdom or to you, Father!”

“Forgive me, Goddess…” he whispered. Gilbert’s heart dropped to the ground. He felt like he had plummeted hundreds of feet after hearing those words come from Annette’s mouth. As much as he wanted to pull her back to him, and away from this horrific, traitorous path, he couldn’t.    
Because he had a duty. Kill any Imperial Forces. Even if they were his own kin.   
“Annette. If you side with the Empire, I will have no choice but to kill you.”   
  
_ Duty over family, huh? Fine.  _   
_   
_ Aiming her spell at him, Annette cast Cutting Gale, set dead onto her father. Winds ripped through the air between them. Ferocity replaced the angelic smile that usually graced her lips. Under her breath, she muttered the incantations for her spell before casting her vicious winds. And they tore at him, biting and whipping him with each gust. Gilbert would have been so proud of his daughter. She had become so powerful over the years since his absence. But perhaps… his inability to be a good father and husband made her this way. This had to be punishment from Sothis herself for abandoning his wife and child in the name of duty. 

But Annette had always been headstrong. She knew her path was not an easy one. But she believed in her professor. She believed in Edelgard. And she believed in herself that this was the right choice. It had to be. Because there was no turning back now.    
  


The fight was long, and arduous. The brand new Black Eagle Strike Force lead by Byleth and Edelgard secured their first victory in defeating Archbishop Rhea and her Knights of Seiros. Fire and destruction consumed Garegg Mach as the town bled. Annette aided Dorothea in healing one of her wounds while Felix tore through enemies like they were made of paper. But when Byleth disappeared, she stuck by Mercedes and other former children of Faerghus. For all they had now was each other. 

Two week prior, Annette had a mother back home staying with her doting uncle at his estate. She had a home. She had friends back in Fhirdiad. And in a flash, it was all gone. Her life as she knew it was changed permanently.    
  
All at age seventeen.

* * *

Annette found hope again when Byleth rose from the ashes like a phoenix, and returned to them at last. For five years, they lie in a slumber that they could not wake from. And while five years may have not felt like long to them, for Annette, and the others in the Black Eagle Strike Force, it felt like an eternity. For five whole years, she had to find a new home for herself in those around her. Some times were harder than others. As she fought tooth and nail for the Empire, she tried to maintain her optimism. There had been so much pain… so much heartbreak that was too much to bear. It was like a ton of bricks weighing down on her heart. 

Her songs gave her some sort of escape. For a moment, Annette could escape the horrors of war in her own silly songs and dances to fill the gaps between gruesome battles with soldiers from the Kingdom. Since joining the task force for the Emperor and Byleth, Annette felt like she was alive again. Old friends and familiar faces welcomed each other back. It had been too long since she saw Sylvain and Felix. And both of them had changed so much… although, time could never change how the class flirt attempted to woo her best friend. As they bantered back and forth, she saw Felix hanging back.

And when warm brown eyes met her big baby blue ones, she swore she saw a hint of a smile.    
“Long time no see, Annette.”

Her heart fluttered. Soft cheeks were twinged with a hint of pink.    
“Yeah… long time no see…” 

Five, long years its been. And they both felt like they were caught in time. And while they were stuck there, Felix and Annette felt a spark come to life. Something was lit. Felix found himself more drawn to her than ever. Before, she was a silly girl who liked to sing and dance to whatever songs she made up on the spot. And now… she was a young woman filled with a genuine determination that nearly blinded him.    
Sometimes, he could hear her voice over the loud, clamoring thoughts in his head. It soothed him when doubt crawled back to him. Her innocence was a beacon. She was like hope incarnate. For a moment, he could feel the beast inside relent, and it allowed him to want to know all about her. Felix wasn’t one for romantic ideas… but he couldn’t shake the desire to know the feel what her hand in his. Would it be soft? Or would it be just as scarred as his own? 

And as the months passed, this thought plagued him day in and day out as her angelic voice filled his head. And for the first time in years, he felt like he was at ease. He felt… warmth. Eating dinner with her with Byleth was something he could look forward to. At times, she aided him in his own budding Reason magic. The first time a flame formed between his fingers, the excitement and joy overwhelmed him that his first instinct was to hug her.

And he wasn’t the only one. 

  
Annette found herself daydreaming in the greenhouse what it would be like to see Felix’s true smile under the sun. As cold and grumpy he was, Felix was a big ole softie deep inside. She knew what kind of temper he could have, as Sylvain made sure to test his patience on a daily basis. But he was gentler, kinder... Teasing even when he was with her. It was a whole other side he kept hidden… like it was a secret just between the two of them. 

The day he asked for her to sing for him was one of the happiest moments of Annette’s life. The smile… that warm, handsome smile… it made her fall for Felix all over again.   
There were days where they would spend time together, like they were the only two people left in the world. Annette felt safe in his strong embrace. Felix felt vulnerable when she pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

The first time Felix confessed his affections for her at the Goddess Tower… Annette wanted to cry. Such a tender hand caressed her cheek as he whispered how much he adored her. Dark hair glistened like onyx in the setting sun. Annette was like a kindred flame that stoked a fire inside that was lost to years of fighting. Her answer to him was a loving kiss. She stood on her tiptoes to reach him, and poured all her heart and soul into her answer. His arms held her close as he returned the love that had grown inside him. And as the sun set behind them, wrapped up in each other’s sweet, loving embrace, they knew were hopeless. 

They worked like fire and water. They were both stubborn people with their own dreams they wanted to follow. And they realized their dreams in each other. Fighting alongside each other, bleeding and snarling like the vicious lions they were… all for their dreams. 

But dreams came at a cost. The price was the lives of those they loved.    
For Felix… it was his father. And for Annette… she would carry the same weight as The Black Eagle Strike Force marched to the Kingdom’s capital.

* * *

The second time Annette fought her father, she was twenty one years old. 

Only this time, she would be paying the price when she saw Gilbert amongst the flames that ravaged all of Fhirdiad. She stood valiantly in the fire that roared. And as she braved the unforgiving blaze, Annette felt a sharp tear in her heart. She came to terms with her choice the moment she and her father met on the battlefield that fateful day the Church of Seiros fell. But it still hurt. It ached. It burned and blistered her poor scar ridden heart. 

Gilbert was an obstacle. He was in the way of their victory. He was holding onto the old ideals of a dead king and a corrupted deity. He was preventing progress. Gilbert was in the way of her dreams coming true…    
It was she had to tell herself to muster up the courage to face him again after all the years that had past. It hurt her so bad she couldn’t stop crying when she fought him the first time. It felt like she was run through with spears and lances when she watched him cling onto life as he retreated from battle. Nightmares of that fateful day plagued her ever since she took the first step away from everything she knew.

And now? He stood before her with the intent to kill. And this time, he wasn’t going to run. 

Gilbert sighed as he watched his daughter, now all grown up, and hardened from battle, watch him from the other side of the vicious flames. Annette remained steadfast. Unyielding. But she fought for everything he stood against. She killed their king. Annette fought alongside an Emperor who was tearing everything that he loved apart. 

  
“Annette. I knew this day would come,” he said as he took his stance on the ash covered cobblestone. His voice carried far, despite the cacophony of destruction around them. The life in his eyes was snuffed the day his own child turned coat against her home, like it was a personal jab at him. Estranged as he was, he still loved his daughter no matter what. But he didn’t deserve her forgiveness. 

Annette did not yield. Her eyes averted from his, avoiding falling prey to her doubts. For years, she prepared herself for this moment. She had come to terms with her choice a long time ago. But none of it made this any easier. Surviving war was hard enough. But to kill was even harder.   
“Yes… and so did I, Father.”

But once she looked up to see him standing there like a true fortress, the fire around her burned brighter. She was an ember herself. Annette knew her duty. This was her path. And it didn’t matter who it was, but they would not stand in her way. Not now. Not ever. 

“Be warned that I  _ will _ push you aside..." Annette swallowed the lump in her throat. She shoved her sorrow and lament down into the deepest, darkest recesses of her mind. "...even if I must use force to do it.”

Her words were confirmation enough. His resolve was solid like steel. This woman… she was not his daughter any longer, and he was not her father. They were two warriors fighting for two very different ideals. Unification and in the name of all that was “holy”. King and country was priority. And the woman with fiery red hair and piercing blue eyes before him was the enemy.    
“I understand,” he said.    
  
Annette grimaced. Her hands balled up into fists.    
Of course. Duty over everything. 

He readied his tomahawk and had his aim dead set on the one he once called his daughter. Wracked with guilt, and regret, Gilbert muttered under his breath a quick prayer.    
“Goddess… this is surely a chastisement from you…” 

Before Annette knew it, a blade was being thrown her way, and only had a split second to dodge. Her feet skid across the loose stone. The sound of the axe cutting through was like hearing the air being sliced in two. Tomahawks were the worst. And no matter how fast she was, Annette always pulled away with a cut or two.    
She hissed as the axe hit her arm, leaving a large gash. Blood dribbled down her arm, soaking through the beige cream fabric. The pain was searing… but it wasn’t unusual. Adrenaline and magic pumped through her veins. Sparks of white light came to life in her little hands, Like she had conjured the stars in her palm. 

She shot back her spell of Sagittae. A rush of light filled her to the brim. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Each cast was more agonizing than the last as she watched as Gilbert was thrown back against a stone wall, magic tearing through him. A scream echoed over the crackling fire and creaking buildings. An explosion boomed from the eastern part of the capital.    
The wind billowed, spreading the flames farther east. And Annette stood still as she watched her father, a man who embodied strength, and valor, fall like a ragdoll. Lifeless. 

Her hands were on fire. They stung. Her heart felt like it was ripped out of her chest as it was beating. It seared. It tore her up inside like a vicious windstorm.    
Annette had seen countless men, women and soldiers lose their lives on the battlefield. But watching the life slip from her father’s tired blue eyes shattered the cracked heart inside her.    
  
All at age twenty one. 

* * *

The war was over. The beast that walked among the mortals was finally slain. Her blood soaked the steps of House Blaiddyd, and a new world was born. Crests and status were thrown to the wind. Corrupted, twisted people in power were stripped of their honor, and imprisoned for their crimes by the Emperor herself. In the shadows, she had another war of her own to fight, for the snakes that slithered in the dark would not die off so easily. And that war was her own, and hers alone to fight. 

As for Annette, the war was over. But the pain never ceased. Grief and guilt consumed her after the final battle of Fhirdiad. When they returned to the monastery, Annette holed herself in her bedroom. For days, she cried. Annette cried, and cried, until there were no more tears left to shed. For days, she held onto a doll she had since she was a child. Its modest dress was worn, and discolored with age. The straw that filled her body was coming out, and poking her occasionally. But it was still soft enough to withstand her holding it close to her chest as she wailed in her pillows. And the nights were the hardest for her.

Being all alone in the dark was absolutely terrifying. So stifling. Annette could barely breathe. The walls around her were closing in as her mind kept replaying the father dying on loop. There was no escaping it. How could she? 

All her life, she only wanted him to love her. She wondered why he left so many years ago. Did he not love her and her mother? Did she do something bad to make him hate her? Annette wanted--needed to know.    
But all the answers died with him. The answers she sought out so desperately for were lost when Gilbert unceremoniously was slammed into a wall by one of her more powerful spells. 

She sniffled as she buried her face into her pillow, curling up against the wall. No matter how much she tried to cocoon herself in her blankets and sheets, she felt like she was going to freeze.   
But a knock that came from her door startled her, and brought her out from the darkest part of her darker thoughts.    
  
“Annette? Can I come in?”    
  
It had been days since she heard Felix’s voice. It was soft. Gentle. There was no harsh edge to it. It held a warmth that Annette had missed so dearly.    
She trudged to the door and opened it to see Felix bathed in moonlight. Tired, dark eyes met puffy red ones. As the door shut behind him, he held her close in his arms. Just the gesture was enough to make fresh tears well up. She bit her quivering lip. Hands grasped at the front of his shirt as she trembled in his arms. A heavy hand smoothed over her marmalade locks. She felt his lips kiss the crown of her head as he rocked her slowly.    
  
“Felix… what have I done?” Annette whispered, her voice cracking with every word. “What have I done…? I… I killed...” She couldn’t even say it. If she said it, it would be true. 

  
Felix was silent as she sobbed in his chest. He wasn’t the best with his words, for what they were worth. They were calloused. Rough. Lacking finesse, as his father once said. At times, his tongue was just as sharp, and as deadly, as his sword. Those caught in its warpath would walk out with more than just hurt feelings. But when it came to comfort… his words were useless.    
How could he comfort someone who went through the same thing as he? Felix’s hands were soaked to the bone with blood. If he could wash the redness from her small hands, he would, for Annette did not deserve to carry the same weight as he did. 

His lips pressed together. Hard. Words caught in his dry throat. What was there to say? How could he provide the comfort she needed so desperately when he was suffering from the same guilt that consumed her. She shouldn’t have to. She didn’t deserve it. And it broke his heart. 

Before Annette knew it, she was lifted from the ground, and swooped into Felix’s arms as he took her to her bed. He set her down as he wrapped his azure, fur lined cloak was wrapped around Annette’s shoulders. He unbuckled the swords that were strapped to his hip and let them clatter to the floor. Boots were kicked off unceremoniously. A hidden dagger was set beside her mountain of books that threatened to topple at any moment. She watched as Felix’s dark hair was released from his ponytail. The way his silky hair fell so naturally made her heart skip a beat. It was a rare sight to see him with his hair down, and look so relaxed. 

"Scoot over,” Felix said, climbing onto the bed with her. “I’m getting in.”

Annette moved over to give Felix some room, but was swiftly taken back into his arms, this time sitting in his lap. She felt so… small. Her heart thrummed like a hummingbird’s wings. His arms were strong, and warm. To think that one day, she would find herself in the embrace of Felix Hugo Fraldarius seemed like a dream so far away. For him to even show himself so vulnerable to her was a forgein concept. 

_ But it was real.  _ _   
_ _ All of it was real.  _

The war. The carnage. The rotting stench of death. The blood… all that sticky, messy blood… all of it was too real.    
And Annette hated it. She hated every part of it. To make a better world, there needed to be sacrifices. But no one told her that each sacrifice would be carved into her soft heart with a dull knife. She didn’t think she would be left to bleed out. It hurt. It burned.   


Her fingers dug into Felix’s shirt as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. She bit her lip, splitting it. Her mouth tasted of iron. The weight of her anxieties, her guilt… it came crashing down like an avalanche… and it was suffocating.    
“Felix… I… ”

A hand stroked her back as he pulled her close, his chin resting on her head.    
“I know,” he whispered. “I know… I’m here with you.”

The night was long as Annette sobbed into her love’s chest. The moon’s light spilled into her room through an open window. The crickets chirped as the owls called out into the night. Wind rustled the vast trees out in the distance. Stars danced across the dark canvas that was the sky. 

And as Annette cried herself to sleep in Felix’s arms, he held her close, and rocked her slowly.   
  
  
For tonight, she was safe with him. For just a while, she could let all the disgusting, cloying guilt out as she melted in his embrace. The steady beat of his heart let her know that he was alive. Though he had his own demons that lurked deeper within, he found solace in her. Loving Annette was comforting. He would stay with her as long as she allowed it. And as the sun rose, bringing a new dawn streaked in golds and rosy hues, a new future was waiting for them.   
And they would both brave it. Together. Hand in hand. No matter what. 


End file.
